JOHN DONNE. DEATH, be not proud, though some have called thee For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow, Rest of their bones, and souls' delivery. Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well, And death shall be no more-Death, thou shalt die. SIR RICHARD FANSHAWE. A ROSE. BLOWN in the morning, thou shalt fade ere noon : What boots a life, which in such haste forsakes thee? Thou'rt wondrous frolic, being to die so soon, And passing proud a little colour makes thee. If thee thy brittle beauty so deceives, Know then the thing that swells thee is thy bane; For the same beauty doth in bloody leaves The sentence of thy early death contain. Some clown's coarse lungs will poison thy sweet flower, If by the careless plough thou shalt be torn ; To murder thee as soon as thou art born; Nay, force thy bud to blow, their tyrant breath JOHN MILTON. TO THE NIGHTINGALE. O NIGHTINGALE, that on yon bloomy spray Both them I serve, and of their train am I. JOHN MILTON. ON HIS BEING ARRIVED TO THE AGE OF TWENTY-THREE. How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, It shall be still in strictest measure even To that same lot, however mean or high, Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven; All is, if I have grace to use it so, As ever in my great Task-Master's eye. JOHN MILTON. WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED TO THE CITY. CAPTAIN, or Colonel, or Knight in arms, Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize, If deed of honour did thee ever please, Guard them, and him within protect from harms. Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower: The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare. |